satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Achievement unlocked, or whatever the phrase is.
I got the computer, and sat up in bed this morning, and dragged out 600 words. It had a beginning, an end, and truly, does read like a summary of a 'concentration camp survivor' novel. But, I am telling myself to let go of expectation, and just have a go at this.
Writing practice, story practice, putting words down.
And allowing the old gears to grind.
It's based on a dream from early this morning, and even now, I can only grasp at threads of it. A train, prisoners of war, pregnancy, people communicating through looks rather than words, guards. That's what I remember.
The story I wrote does nothing new with the material.
I still feel my blood singing from story telling.
And now, on with my day. Yoga, a bit of gardening perhaps, phone calls to make come 9am, a walk, and somewhere along the way, 30 minutes of memoir writing. It's time to write about the Ex Bastard years, in terms of my spiritual development.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
This past week, I've had loads of vivid, distressing dreams, mostly involving exes; specifically XP and the ExBastard.
(I've suddenly realised that new readers will have no idea who they are. Okay, I have an Ex Husband, known as LoafAbout, or LA. Then there was 18 months with YogaMan. Then, after a brief excursion into Christian land with StreetWitness, and a short adventure with ThighsMan, I began what turned out to be one magical year, one bad year, and one we-broke-up-but-we're-both-addicted-to-each-other-and-not-in-a-good-way six months with the Ex Bastard, known as XB. After that, was ten years with XP, the Ex-Partner. Now, for the past six years, there has been PizzaBoy, the Excellent Husband. So, do try to keep them straight, my loves. LA, XB, and XP.)
These dreams left me sweating, distressed, unsure of who I was each morning, fearful, and with dream flavour all over me most of the day.
At first, I thought it was because I was reading RIDING THE BUS WITH MY SISTER, which is about a woman who indeed rides the bus with her intellectually impaired sister. I have a son with autism, intellectual impairment, hearing imapairment, blah, blah blah. I thought the book was triggering off old stuff.
Be that as it may, it's more than that. The dreams are a clarion call re-examine old, old self-stories.
I did a three card tarot spread for myself yesterday, using my brand new Mary-El tarot. Time to own my part in those old stories. Time to admit that in the weeks before being dumped by XP, I was both ecstatic that I was finally going to move in with the man I loved, deeply upset that he demanded I get rid of one of my cats, and that my kids have only limited visiting times in the house, and my daughter, not at all for six months, and behaving like a bit of a shit.
By turns sulky, hyper, near hysterically confident that this was finally, finally happening, and never mind what he was asking of me, and assuming that one relationship counselling session would fix everything.
When I finally found someone who would rehome Missy, our little pale grey cat, it was one more hoop I'd jumped through for XP, and deeply distressing.
I called XP at work to ask if he couldn't see his way clear to not only having Angel, but also Missy in his precious house.
XP: I'm sorry, but no.
He liked Angel. He didn't like Missy. She didn't come when he called. She shied away from him.
Satya: It will take me a long time to forgive you for this.

That was the fateful trigger. He arrived at my house in the evening, as I was packing my spice bottles into a cardboard moving box. He shouted that I loved my cats more than him. That he didn't succumb to emotional blackmail. How dare I.
He stormed out. I looked at the cinnamon jar in my hand and numbly packed it into the box.
An hour later came the text message. He'd cancelled the moving van, due in three days. I wasn't moving in. We're over. Don't contact him.
I drove to his house, hysterical. I offered him a full bag of grapefruits I'd picked from my generous neighbour's tree, just for him. I noticed he'd claimed back his house key I kept in my car.
He didn't budge. We were done.

I'm not saying it was my fault. He had me at the cliff-edge already. By this time, I'd agreed to so many self-compromising things that I no longer knew if I had boundaries at all. All to keep him. Because I was afraid of being alone.
I'm not saying that he wasn't a dick. He was.
But, to be honest, I was a bit of a dick, too.

Oh, the things we women do to keep a man who is not worthy of us.

And, as of last night, no LA, XB, or XP dreams.
Sure, a weird dream full of emotion: I'm a prison guard, and to avoid witnessing an execution, I spin an complex story about knowing the prisoner in some way; of knowing the true story behind a certain poet's Muse relationship with a girl called Louise, who is somehow linked to the prisoner. I start pointing out that poems written about other people are, in fact, about Louise.

As usual, I woke wrung out, because all the way through the dream, I know I am lying, and getting deeper in all the time. But the dream flavour is no longer with me. I am not spending the day with stirred-up emotions. And, it wasn't about my exes. Whew! I guess the dream message being hammered at me for the past week has finally been delivered. Own your part in it all. Own your shit.
So, here I am, owning. I'm human. I made, and make mistakes. Can't change them. It all happened.
Now, I wonder how my Bottom-of-the-fridge soup is coming along?
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Ages after everyone else has trooped over here, I've finally arrived. I've looked around, and made myself a little comfy on the old brown couch. I've yet to haul up the cushions, the blankies, the dog, and install a couple of the cats, to say nothing of switching on the salt crystal lamps, and clicking on Sacred Earth's newest cd.

Tonight, at nearly 7pm, I'm puzzling over what to say. I've left behind 12 years of lj blogging to start fresh here. Same old life, brand new space. At my feet is Penny the black cat. She's about 8 years old now, and if it's true that a black cat houses the soul of a witch, it's no wonder the poor girl is crabby most of the time. She grumps at us instead of meowing. Every morning, she hops up on the husband's pillow and subtly combs his hair with her claws. She's given up trying to hook a claw up his nose now that he has a CPAP machine. No fun to be had there. So she scrapes at his scalp until he gets up and feeds everyone.
She has her back to me, as is her way, and is somewhere between dozing, and simple disapproval of me being on the brown couch with the computer in my lap. How dare I do that and not have room for Penny.

Soon I'll retire to bed to continue reading 'Riding The Bus With My Sister'. I didn't expect this book to be an uncomfortable read, but the narrator's sister has an intellectual impairment. TwentiesPerson, my adult offspring(born male, but identifies as female) has a mild intellectual impairment. I suspect a combination of reading this book, and dealing with some stuff related to his impairment recently has lead to a series of anxiety dreams. Simply awful dreams that push all my deepest buttons. Thus, this morning, I awoke distressed. The dream flavour stayed with me all day, and I hope to not encounter the vibe of it when I get back into bed tonight. I've sprayed the sheets with sweet orange and rose geranium oils, so oils, do your uplifting thing.
TwentiesPerson was, on lj, known as TwentiesBoy, and TeenBoy before that, but I feel that I should try to be generous with his self-identification. As a language, English needs more pronouns. I know it's acceptable to refer to them as 'them' and 'they', but to me, it sounds like I'm referring to a committee. I have tried zis, and zer, zim, zes, and ze, but I can't keep it consistent. So, here, you've met TP, as he/she/ze will be known on this blog, and you've met me, SatyaPriya.
That's likely enough to start with. I do hear that long blog entries are super-unfashionable.


satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)

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